


Fly

by tsuristyle



Category: SMAP
Genre: Fly PV AU, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-26
Updated: 2016-12-26
Packaged: 2018-09-12 08:17:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,536
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9063853
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tsuristyle/pseuds/tsuristyle
Summary: The buildings blur past, colors melting into meaninglessness; steam rises from the cracks in the pavement like hell itself has taken up residence in the sewers. They should have left a long time ago, given up and run instead of clinging to the city like they owed it some kind of loyalty. The city has forgotten them; he knows from one blink to the next that their time has run out.But there's one thing, one thing left to do.(Based on the Fly PV; five men, loyalty, and love. Written June 2014.)





	

It's been five years since they split and the sun is still high enough in the sky to slant through Kimura's blinds and catch the dust in gold streaks when someone bangs on his door. Kimura waits, watching a tiny feather drift into the light, probably kicked up from the decaying couch cushions when he flopped himself down. If he waits long enough they'll either go away or try to break in, depending on the type of client they are, but it's probably Lexus and Lexus is alright. He rolls off the couch and peers through the peephole. It's Lexus.  
  
He checks again and unchains the door and the man edges in trailing curses and the smell of old cigars. Kimura greets him with a friendly clap on the shoulder.  
  
"What you got for me?" His English is terrible but Lexus's Japanese is worse, so it's always English, a broken patchwork lifted from action movies and rock music and porn and people yelling at each other on the street. Making himself understood has less to do with words than actions in his line of work anyway.  
  
"Yo man I got you a shitloada sweet stuff like only your man can get, only the best stuff for you man take a lookere..." Lexus's meandering nonsense is nigh-incomprehensible in any language and half the stuff he brings in is junk lifted from pawn shops but he's worth the trouble because he's got unerring instincts about what's going on on the streets. Kimura lights himself a cigarette, ignoring the way Lexus's eyes flash hopefully, and prods the worthless bits piling on his table from the man's pockets.  
  
Jewelry, expired medicine, a lighter, condoms... "Where you get this shit?" At least there's a pack of cigarettes. He pockets it and blows smoke at the rest of the pile. "Nothin' but shit. You hidin' stuff from me?"  
  
"Naw, shit, don't be like that man you know your man Lexus ain't gonna hide nothin' from you, that's bad for _business_." Lexus reaches into his jacket and slides something made of cold, dark metal across the table. "I was just savin' the best for last, take a look at that and tell me I ain't got somethin' fine for you today--"  
  
Kimura stares at the gun. He knows every line and curve, every detail right down to the faint, barely-noticeable scratch on the bottom of the handle.  
  
"Hah, knew you'd like it, I told you your man Lexus don't ever let you down--"  
  
He picks up the gun, turns it over in his hands. No mistake. "You steal this?"  
  
"Hey, c'mon man, you know I don't do that kinda shit, this shit is _legit_ , total, one hundred percent--"  
  
Kimura turns and points the gun at Lexus, his finger resting easy on the trigger. Lexus raises his hands, swallowing visibly.  
  
"Hey, man, they were shootin' at each other and one got hit and the guy with him ran and then I got outta there cause I ain't riskin' my ass over some--"  
  
Kimura caresses the safety with his thumb. _Click_.  
  
"--look, look, next I looked they was gone, that was just lyin' on the pavement, you know that's fair game, that dude ain't comin' back for it." Lexus stares at the barrel of the gun, sweat beading under his greasy leather hat. "I swear, man, c'mon."  
  
Kimura lowers the gun with a sigh, sucking on his cigarette and checking the magazine. Empty. "Guess it's your lucky day." He shoves the magazine back in. Must've been a pretty bad fight. "I'll take this."  
  
Lexus drops his hands like talking his way out of a gun in his face is nothing new and brightens hopefully. "You see? I bring you good stuff, man, I saw that and I was like, man, this one is for the Birdman and no one else, now how's about we make it--"  
  
Kimura flops onto the sinking couch again and props his feet on the coffee table. "I said, I'll _take_ it." He gives the small-time dealer a sharp, humorless smile. Lexus doesn't argue-- bad for business-- but he mutters self-pityingly to himself as he collects the junk on Kimura's table. It's all stolen shit anyway.  
  
The phone rings and Kimura waits until the third ring to pick up, yelling at Lexus to shut up.  
  
"Goro's been caught."  
  
The line cuts off. It takes Kimura a moment to register but then the dial tone is buzzing in his ear and Lexus is muttering to himself again and Goro's been caught.  
  
Kimura stubs his cigarette into the ashtray already littered with crumpled dogends and lights another.  
  
Caught.  
  
When half the cigarette has fallen to ash and Lexus is poking his head curiously into the fridge, he takes a deep breath and reaches for the phone.  
  
  
Shingo sounds less than pleased to hear from him, breathless, girls giggling in the background. "I'm busy right now."  
  
"It's Goro." Kimura crosses his legs on the coffee table.  
  
A pause. "What about him?"  
  
"He's been caught."  
  
The other end is silent for a long moment. "Should I call Tsuyoshi?"  
  
"Yeah." Kimura sits up, tapping ashes from his cigarette. "Usual meeting place."  
  
He hangs up. Tsuyoshi will deal with the fourth one.  
  
  
 _It's their first mission together. Simple and short, or it should be.  
  
"We missed two." Nakai's voice is low and clipped. "Keep position. I'll take Tsuyoshi and Shingo around back."  
  
Kimura drags an unconscious guard behind a stack of boxes. "Got it."  
  
Goro crouches down next to him, searching the guard for anything of use. The younger man seems to wear black like a second skin, and he's soft-spoken and equally soft-footed, making him seem all the more like a shadow in the dark. Kimura has yet to see him laugh.  
  
"Anything?" he asks. Goro shakes his head.  
  
"Just his gun."  
  
"Hang on to it for now." Kimura scans the area, standing up cautiously. "I'll check the front again."  
  
Goro nods.  
  
There's a motion from the shadows, the sound of a safety releasing, and Kimura whirls around, raising his gun-- shots being fired--  
  
And a man slumps forward onto the concrete. Kimura turns. Goro still has the guard's gun trained on the man's body, a look of shock on his face. His hands are shaking._  
  
  
The shower feels exquisite, hot water trailing luxuriously through his hair and down his back to pool at his toes. Not as good as it would after a bottle of champagne and a couple of girls, Shingo thinks mournfully, but that will just have to wait. He shuts off the water and steps out, toweling off his hair.  
  
"Shingo, baby, what's wrong?" The girls are arranged invitingly on the champagne-soaked silk sheets, the one on the left playing with the lace on the one on the right's underwear. "Aren't we exciting enough for you?"  
  
Shingo dries himself off and tosses the towel aside. "Sorry, lovelies. Gotta go kill some people." He grins and tickles their feet, and they giggle, not caring if he's joking or not. He's already paid, after all.  
  
He reaches into his closet, fingers brushing dark linen. He hasn't worn it in five years.  
  
  
"Shingo? What's up? You can't borrow my dancers, if that's why you're calling."  
  
Tsuyopon is the one who should have never gotten into this business. He doesn't belong in trash alleys and hole-in-the-wall bars, in the grimy underworld of back-stabbings and double-dealings. But he'd run into the wrong people, and then he'd met Nakai. They all had.  
  
"Aw, come on, just one night? I'll be a gentleman, I promise."  
  
Tsuyoshi laughs. "That's not what I'm worried about. But really, what's up? Something happen?"  
  
Shingo's smile fades. "Goro."  
  
"Goro?" Tsuyoshi takes one breath, another. "He's been caught?"  
  
"Yeah." Shingo holds the phone in place with his shoulder, double-checks the rounds in his gun. "We're meeting. Same place as always."  
  
"Okay."  
  
Shingo slips the gun into its holster and takes the phone in his hand again. "You'll call Nakai, right?"  
  
Tsuyoshi is quiet for a long moment. "Yeah," he says finally.  
  
  
 _They spill out from the nightclub, glittering lights and heavy bass clinging tangibly to their skin. Shingo flirts with the hookers, wrapping his arms around their waists and caressing them teasingly and filling their ears with promises that he'll buy a whole night this time. They giggle and lean into him and tease him back-- he always pays, after all.  
  
"Shingo, stop harassing them." Tsuyoshi frowns disapprovingly from the curb. Next to him, Nakai is on the phone, talking about business by the looks of it.  
  
"Don't worry, Tsuyopon, I'm always a gentleman." Shingo slides away from the girls, waving with his fingers. "Maybe you should come along next time."  
  
Tsuyoshi flushes and turns away. Kimura finally emerges from the club, followed by Goro. The latter looks breathless, a faint smile hovering at the edges of his mouth.  
  
Kimura runs a hand through his hair, licking his lips contentedly. "So what's the plan now?"  
  
Nakai hangs up, pocketing his phone. "We have a job." Everyone straightens unconsciously, expressions shifting. "Tomorrow morning at five, so get some sleep. No girls," he adds, glancing at Shingo.  
  
"What kind of job is it?" Goro asks. His voice is soft behind Shingo, almost lost in the thrum of the nightclub's beat.  
  
Nakai looks at Goro silently. It's an unwritten rule; they don't ask questions. They trust Nakai to do the thinking, to choose the jobs and tell them what to do and keep them alive.  
  
"Tomorrow at five," Nakai repeats. He drops his cigarette on the ground, grinds it under his heel, and leaves.  
  
As they disperse, Shingo catches Goro's eye; the dark-haired man's expression is unreadable, but his eyes are sharp with anger._  
  
  
Music swells on cheap, tinny speakers, sleazy horns oozing to a slow beat under an unintelligible jazz singer. Tsuyoshi hates it, but it's what Ai dances to, and he respects that.  
  
Respect doesn't mean anything, they tell him. Respect doesn't pay the rent. And don't even think about love.  
  
Ai winks at him from the stage, trailing a finger along her thigh suggestively as she rehearses. Tsuyoshi sets the phone on the receiver and leans back against the bar.  
  
It's the same rule, from the highest skyscraper office to the lowest gutter whorehouse: don't get involved with your employees. He should never have accepted her invitation that night, her cherry-red lips curved into a teasing pout in the dark. Twined together on his single bed, she'd whispered in his ear about running away, leaving the country, together, together, I love you, I love you...  
  
He should never have accepted Nakai's invitation, either. But he knows what it means to follow someone, now; it has nothing and everything to do with love.  
  
  
It takes four calls before Nakai picks up.  
  
"Nakai." The voice on the other end is flat and toneless. Tsuyoshi swallows hard; it's been five years since he last heard that voice. He's wished countless times he'd never heard it, that maybe he'd have been better off dead on the pavement instead of what he's become, but now his leader's voice is in his ear and it makes his hands feel empty.  
  
"It's Goro," he begins, feeling like his lungs are trying to inhale and exhale at the same time. "He's--"  
  
"I know."  
  
Silence.  
  
Tsuyoshi winds the phone cord in his fingers, searching for something, anything at all to say. He wishes he could at least see the other man's face.  
  
Nakai lets out a short breath, somewhere between a laugh and a sigh. "Still at that place of yours?"  
  
Seedy lights, seedy music, seedy entertainment. It's _Nakai's_ fault he's here, running a strip joint in a dead-end part of town, barely ever seeing the light of day and dreaming of the countless lives he's taken--  
  
"Yeah."  
  
"I see."  
  
Silence.  
  
"Then--" There's a short pause, like Nakai is sucking on a cigarette. "I'll see you later." The line goes dead.  
  
Tsuyoshi hangs up, and goes to look for his gun.  
  
  
 _They meet at a tiny Italian place, more conspicuous than incognito in black suits and sunglasses, but the owner is an old deaf man who only speaks Italian and doesn't seem to mind customers who regularly come packing firearms. The food is decent, too.  
  
Tsuyoshi orders coffee for everyone, nudging Shingo as he eyes the menu with interest. Nakai takes the chair next to him and pulls off his sunglasses. "Tonight is straightforward. We're escorting a cargo delivery."  
  
"Cargo?" Kimura smirks. Tsuyoshi pinches his lips together; he knows what that means, now.  
  
"We'll escort the delivery vehicle to the dropoff point and ensure the delivery is confidential and uninterrupted. Kimura and Shingo will take the lead, Tsuyoshi and Goro will flank. I'll cover the rear." Nakai's voice is flat and steady, his eyes focused on a point somewhere on the checkered tablecloth. "When we reach the dropoff point--"  
  
"I don't like it."  
  
They turn in surprise. Goro's mouth is drawn into a line. "I don't trust this client."  
  
Tsuyoshi frowns. The client? How does he...  
  
"You were listening," Nakai states, his voice neutral. Goro lifts his chin, defiant.  
  
The owner comes tottering out with a tray of five coffees, mumbling something in Italian as he leaves it on their table. No one moves.  
  
Nakai breaks the silence. "We've taken many jobs from this client before."  
  
"Too many jobs," Goro replies. "I don't like it."  
  
"Goro--" Kimura starts, a warning note in his voice.  
  
"Don't you see? This guy is a crime lord, he doesn't care about loyalty. He just wants to cover his own tracks." Goro folds his arms. "We're a liability."  
  
"Then we're in just as much danger if we refuse." Nakai looks at them, all of them. There are dark circles under his eyes. "I... used to work for him, before. I know what he is. But we aren't vigilantes. We aren't in a position to choose what we like and don't like. Remember that."  
  
The table is silent. Tsuyoshi remembers the first time the older man saved his life, pressing a gun into his hands when his back had been against the wall. It hadn't been a fair choice, and he doesn't know if it was the right one, either-- but he's alive. They all are.  
  
He wonders if Nakai had to face a choice like that once, too.  
  
Goro nods, stiffly. "Good." Nakai folds his hands on the table. "When we reach the drop-off point--"  
  
Tsuyoshi breathes a sigh of relief, and sets a coffee in front of his leader._  
  
  
Nakai shoves his unconscious underling's body aside with his foot and gets into the driver's seat. The mustang purrs to life, taking off out of the alley and into the hazy neon lights.  
  
He lights another cigarette and reaches for the glovebox. Two, three 13-round magazines. He'll need to pick up some more; Kimura and Shingo will be fine, but Tsuyoshi probably hasn't bought any in five years.  
  
The buildings blur past, colors melting into meaninglessness; steam rises from the cracks in the pavement like hell itself has taken up residence in the sewers. They should have left a long time ago, given up and run instead of clinging to the city like they owed it some kind of loyalty. The city has forgotten them; he knows from one blink to the next that their time has run out.  
  
But there's one thing, one thing left to do.  
  
Nakai shifts, speeds onto the highway. The sky above is dark and starless. The same.  
  
  
"Extra bullets."  
  
A pause.  
  
"Thanks."  
  
The scraping of chairs, rustling of dark suits.  
  
"There's no plan. I don't know how many guards there will be, or what condition Goro will be in, or whether there will be an escape route."  
  
A cigarette being stubbed out. "It's a trap."  
  
"I know." Nakai takes a breath, looks at his teammates. "Are you in?"  
  
  
 _Nakai almost shoots Goro when he rounds the corner, dragging his leg behind him in the dark. Blood is seeping through the torniquet, warmth spreading down his thigh. He slumps against the wall and slides down, breathing hard. "Alright?"  
  
Goro moves like a shadow, instantly at his side. "Don't ask _me _that." He strips off his jacket, reinforcing the torniquet.  
  
Nakai leans his head back, sucking in air to fight off light-headedness. "You were right." He laughs softly. "So much for loyalty."  
  
"You're delirious," Goro tells him, but his expression is concerned. He flattens against the wall, keeping watch. "Kimura and Shingo made it out. I didn't see where Tsuyoshi went."  
  
"He's safe." Nakai reaches into his jacket and pulls out the remaining clips. One, two, three. "We'll have to split for a while."  
  
Goro doesn't say anything. Shots ring out, distant but drawing closer.  
  
Nakai looks up, beyond the crumbling, corrugated eaves. The sky is dark, starless. He sets two clips at Goro's feet and sucks in a deep breath.  
  
"Stay alive," he says, and pushes himself up._  
  
  
\---  
  
  
Blackness. No; there's a figure leaning over him, the pale crazy one again. He can't tell what the man is saying anymore. Everything else is too loud.  
  
 _Kimura's teeth flash, a smile in the flickering lights of the nightclub. "Wanna dance?"_  
  
"--not dead yet, you fucker-- --are they--"  
  
 _Shingo leans on him, suddenly, a heavy arm over his shoulder and a wide yawn by his ear. Goro's hand is halfway to his gun before he stops himself._  
  
"--don't act like-- --belong to me!"  
  
A blow. Another. Another.  
  
 _Tsuyoshi's thumb always misses the safety, slippery with sweat or maybe it's guilt. He confuses loyalty with love but maybe they all do, or maybe they really are the same thing._  
  
"--no point in being so-- --don't you know loyalty-- --sn't worth anything?"  
  
 _Nakai, who is always planning their next job. Nakai, who turns pale when they come back injured. Nakai, who guides them through the night, a voice in his ear-- out, out, get out--_  
  
He's getting delirious. Images spin past, stars melt across the sky. Strange, there shouldn't be any stars here. He's always searched but never found any.  
  
"--ybe I'll just-- --out of your pretty little ass--"  
  
Gunshots. Running footsteps, a confusion of noise and blinding light and then an arm is under him, Kimura is tearing the binding tape away and Shingo and Tsuyoshi are lifting him and Nakai is guarding the open door.  
  
"Goro, can you walk?"  
  
"Man, you have the worst timing, I was about to score with two girls at once!"  
  
"Nakai, what about this guy?"  
  
"Leave him, there's no time. Let's go!"  
  
They run, up, up, up. There is no down anymore, only a mass of snarling weapons trying to swallow them up, gunshots like snapping teeth. But a voice is in their ears, a hand on their backs; Nakai fires, again, again, urging them on like a man who has found something to believe in again.  
  
They reach the roof. It's a dead end.  
  
A shadow flickers in the doorway and Shingo stumbles as a bullet grazes his neck. Goro moves his hand to cover the wound, stanching it with his fingers even as he leans into Shingo to hold himself up. Nakai shoots the man, one, two, three--  
  
"Enough."  
  
The pale crazy one emerges from the dark. He's small, smaller than the image burned into Goro's mind, but at his heels a pack of guns and knives and fists bristles with menace.  
  
"There's nowhere to run." The small man smiles a sickly, triumphant smile. "You're mine now."  
  
Four guns point at him. Goro lets go, standing on his own feet.  
  
"You've always been mine." The man steps forward, looking at Nakai. "I made you what you are, and I can unmake you just as easily."  
  
Behind his gun, Nakai's mouth pinches together tightly.  
  
"Even if you escaped now, what would you do? Spend the rest of your days running, hiding like a rat in the city gutters?"  
  
Tsuyoshi glances behind them; a ledge, then empty air.  
  
"I can make you into something even greater. Something unstoppable." The man grins like a crocodile, and spreads his arms wide. "All it takes is your loyalty."  
  
 _Nakai's head drops back and for a moment Goro wonders if he's passed out from the blood loss. But his eyes are open, staring up, up at the starless night, and for an instant everything, the determination and pain and desperate calculation, is stripped away. All that remains is loneliness._  
  
Nakai looks up at the sky. Above them, glimmering through a break in the clouds, five points of light-- Goro's vision blurs, and in the moment before he blinks they stream across his vision like falling stars.  
  
Nakai lowers his gun and smiles, and they know his answer without hearing it. They know what loyalty is, loyalty that not even five years could break; they throw their guns away, one by one, and stand on the ledge together, the wind whipping around them. This is their answer.  
  
Nakai spits at the man's feet, and turns.  
  
They spread their arms and leap into the starlit night.  
  
  
 _For a moment, something seems to flutter past, like a feather from a bird taking flight; then it, too, is gone._


End file.
